Part of leaving means saying goodbye. One of the goodbyes that I didn't think would be as hard as it was, was my truck. I didn't realize I'd be so attached to a car but it's been with me for 9 years. That's longer than Brian has known me.
I drove it off the lot with 7 miles as a lease. Probably the worst financial decision of my life, but what did I know? I was young and impulsive and I had wanted that truck since I was a teenager. It's been through so much with me. The first time I met Brian, I let him drive it to pick up his friend at the airport and back. When we moved to Sacramento, it carried all of my belongings (basically clothes) all this way. It was there when we got married, when we moved into our first house, when we had Allie, then moved to our second house, had Maddie, and now it's gone.
I'm sure the next owner will enjoy it. It was a very good car and I like to think we sold it for a very good deal. But as I watched Brian drive it away to meet the new owner, I had this strong urge to cry. I could wax eloquently and say it was a symbol of my younger years and what I was really saying goodbye to was the days of my youth, but that wasn't it. I just plain missed my truck.
It's been replaced with a more family friendly vehicle. One that can fit groceries and strollers in the back without getting rained on. One that can seat up to 8 people. It will be a great family car and I do already love it.
I miss my truck.
Or maybe I'm just constantly on the verge of tears because this is only the beginning of a long list of hard goodbyes.